When Walls Come Tumbling Down
by Kerrison
Summary: Brennan's on her annual dig when Booth gets a call he's been dreading all these years: Bones is hurt and he's too far away to be by her side.
1. Chapter 1

**AN: D'Angeli took a vacation recently. And since I was feeling a little lonely/bored, she left me with some writing prompts. Here's the result of one of her awesome prompts. There are more chapters coming. :) **

**Many thanks to D'Angeli for her awesomeness as a friend & beta. And many many thanks to everyone who is so diligent about sending reviews and feedback - it really does make a difference and I appreciate it so much. **

* * *

"_Mr. Booth?"_

"_This is Agent Booth," he had replied, barely hearing the thickly accented voice across a static-y line. _

"_This is Doctor Pauolo, the director of the excavation here in Xela. Dr. Temperance Brennan listed you as her emergency contact, --"_

_The doctor hadn't been able to proceed, his next words immediately cut off by Booth's panicked voice. "Is she all right? What happened?"_

"_I'm afraid there's been a cave-in on the dig. Doctor Brennan was in the anterior room of a temple and a support beams gave way." _

_His legs were weak and his heart raced. "Is she all right?" Booth repeated, this time his voice left no room for question. The details of the accident could be saved for later – for now all he cared about was finding out if she was all right._

"_She's been taken to the local hospital. Once her condition is stable enough, she'll be flown to South Miami Hospital. It is the closest hospital in the States. They anticipate her being there within a few hours."_

_Booth felt his chest become tighter with every word the doctor spoke. He cleared his throat, finding it to be the only way he could force himself to speak. "I'm on the next flight to Miami. If- if - " he stuttered. _

"_If her condition changes or the timeline changes, I will call you immediately."_

_Booth flipped his phone closed with one hand and grabbed his keys off the coffee table with the other. His previously weak legs now carried him in a rush towards the door. _

_He made it to the airport on auto pilot. If asked, he couldn't say if he parked his car in the garage, or left it idling in the fire lane; it wasn't important. The lack of an overnight bag and the purchase of a last-minute ticket had caused some security concerns but with the highly inappropriate flash of his badge and a steely glare, he had made it onto the plane. _

_While buckling in to his seat with trembling fingers, he had the presence of mind to remember to call Angela. Unfortunately before he was able to dial, the flight attendant made the safety announcement prohibiting any further use of phones. Any other time he'd throw caution to the wind and call anyway- but right now the risk of getting himself thrown off the plane was too big of a gamble._

_The minute the plane taxied to the gate in Florida, his phone was to his ear and Angela's shocked and worried voice echoed across the connection. She promised to rush down as soon as she could get a flight and, in the background, Booth had recognized the sound of multiple people talking. He vaguely picked out what sounded like Cam calling his boss on his behalf, as well as Hodgins reserving the Cantilever Group's private jet. _

_Reinforcements had been called in. And, not for the first time, Booth had noted how the team did far more than just solve cases. They were their own odd little family that stepped up in a crisis. _

_But right now, as he sprinted through the airport to the car-rental stalls, he realized that not only would _his _life fall apart, their family would fall apart without Bones. _

* * *

Booth shook his head, ridding himself of the worry that overwhelmed him again at the memory.

He had arrived at the hospital only moments after her medevac had arrived and, despite his badge-flashing, name-dropping and the screaming he had done at the nurses, he still hadn't been allowed back to her room.

'Critical condition' the doctor had said when he came out to report her condition to her listed emergency contact.

The phrase had made his stomach roll with nausea.

He had felt his heart jump with tension and fear every time a nurse walked passed the waiting room. Half of him wanted to hear an update from the nurse – anything to kill this endless waiting game that had started days ago. The other, wiser half knew that any update from the nurse ran a risk of being bad news just as easily as it ran the risk of good news.

Despite the urge, he hadn't been to the hospital's chapel.

It was simply too far.

He had found the coffee machine. He had found the restroom.

He had found the hallway which lead to the unit where she was being tended. He had found that the doors required a key-card, much like the one he used at the lab, to gain entry. And he had found that his Jeffersonian key-card did not work at the hospital.

And Booth had found that the sight of Angela and Hodgins was as reassuring as it was distracting.

The puffy tinge to her eyes told of the flight she had spent crying. The look on Hodgins' face spoke volumes of how helpless the trillionaire felt when a friend was injured.

Angela had dove into his arms the minute she laid gaze on him. Booth clung to Angela as tightly as she clung to him. No words were spoken as they held tightly to the hope that their mere presence would help Brennan fight.

They staggered to the waiting room chairs and Booth managed to fill them in on what little information he knew, starting with the cave-in at her excavation.

"Definitely a concussion," he said, scrubbing his face with his palms. "A broken ankle and some cracked ribs. They said something about a dislocated shoulder, but they've reset it. Cuts, bruises, ya know?"

Angela winced as he spoke and nestled closer to Hodgins for comfort.

"Any idea when she'll wake up?"

Booth shook his head. "Getting information has been like pulling teeth. I've begged, I've screamed, I've threatened. This is the one time I'm thankful I forgot my gun in DC – I'm positive I would have shot someone by now, just to get answers," he had said.

"I'll go call Cam. We'll see if she knows anyone here. Maybe she can pull some strings," Hodgins said, stepping out of the waiting room to use his cell.

Booth had sighed. "You look like hell, Sweetie," Angela said gently, her fingers curling over Booth's.

"I had just gotten off an all-nighter when I got the call," he replied, suddenly feeling exhaustion rush over him.

She squeezed his hand. "Why don't you close your eyes. I promise I'll wake you if … anything, Booth. I'll wake you."

He looked at her, relieved to no longer be alone. With a small smile, he rested his head back against the wall, his fingers still curled tightly in hers as he drifted off.

* * *

He felt fingers running through his hair, gently rubbing his scalp and a voice in the back of his mind jolted him into wakefulness with the hope that the touch was coming from Bones. When Angela's soft voice met his ears, Booth couldn't help but feel a wave of disappointment.

"Sweetie, you need to go rest," she said, crouched down in front of him, gently rubbing his head.

"No," was his firm reply as he shook his head and blinked back the sleep that threatened to overtake him.

"She's right, man" Hodgins spoke up, his normally jovial tone having taken on a much more no-nonsense intonation. "You've been here for two days. You've got to go rest and change."

"I'm not leaving," he said, his hand coming up and scrubbing his face, trying to wipe away the physical exhaustion which was weak in comparison to the emotional fatigue that threatened to knock him out on the spot.

"We're all worried, man," Hodgins spoke up from Angela's side. "We'll take turns and one of us will always be here. We'll call as soon as anything changes."

"No," he said firmly, shifting and settling into the waiting-room chair. He'd be here when she woke up, no matter how long it took.


	2. Chapter 2

Angela and Hodgins had procured a room at a nearby hotel.

Of course they had reserved a room for him, as well, but he hadn't used it.

Seeley Booth's butt hadn't left the waiting room chair other than to grab a cup of coffee and use the men's room. And even those tasks were done only when absolutely necessary.

There was an overwhelming fear that plagued him every time he left the waiting room; what if they came looking for him? What if she needed him and he wasn't there?

One of the nurses had taken pity on him and brought him a turkey sandwich from the cafeteria the night before. He had managed to mindlessly swallow at about a quarter of it, but his worry prevented him eating any more.

"Agent Booth," the nurse said softly, entering the waiting room with a small smile on her face.

He jumped from his seat, jostling the empty Styrofoam cup on the end-table.

"Ms. Brennan is stable and she's starting to come around," the nurse said, gesturing for Booth to follow her down the hall. "Because you're not immediate family, there's not much that we can tell you," she explained, turning a corner and speaking over her shoulder as they walked. She didn't have to look back to be sure he was following her like a thirsty man to water. He had been waiting too long for news of his friend to fall behind now. "But now that she's stable, because you're the emergency contact, we'll let you in to sit with her for visiting hours."

She stopped in front of a door and pushed it open with one hand, waiting for Booth to tentatively pass her into the room.

He stopped at the end of her bed, frozen by the sight of her disheveled hair and the bandage on one side of her forehead. Her normally alabaster skin had a pasty complexion made worse by the awful pale fabric of the hospital gown. There were bandages on her right forearm and Booth knew, from experience, it was the arm she instinctively used when blocking a punch. He knew without a doubt that she had thrown the arm up to protect herself when the rock-walls began to tumble.

"God. Bones," he managed to whisper, his feet suddenly finding wings and moving with urgency to the side of the bed. He stood frozen again for a mere second before reaching out and tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

"All her bones are set, actually," the nurse said, misunderstanding his words. "Just a broken rib and a broken ankle. She'll be fine in a few weeks."

"No," he said softly, his fingers curling ever-so-gently around Brennan's good hand. "It's what I call her. She's a forensic anthropologist; she works with bones all day."

"Oh," the nurse said, her gaze flickering between the monitors next to the bed and the undeniable look of worry on the man's face; no wonder he was listed as the emergency contact. If she had a man who looked at her that way she certainly wouldn't have gone to Mexico without him.

"We're right across the hall at the nurse's station if you need anything," she said, moving out the door.

Booth breathed, his free hand rubbing across his tired features before he settled his gaze back on her bruised face. The beeping of the monitors in the room lulled him for a few moments, reassuring him with audible proof that she was in fact alive.

"We're going to have to have a talk when you wake up," he said softly, "You are _not _allowed to scare me like this. I think we're gonna have to put the kibosh on all this dangerous stuff you like to do."

Her fingers twitched in his hands and caused his eyes to snap to hers, startled to find them fluttering and barely open. "That sounds dull," she managed to eek out, her voice barely a whisper.

He felt the sharp sting of tears hit his eyes and it was only willpower and quick blinking that kept him from losing face and shedding tears in front of her.

"Hey," he breathed a greeting, tightening his grip on her fingers ever so slightly.

"The wall fell on me," she whispered. "We didn't expect that."

"No, Bones," Booth replied, chuckling slightly at her comment. "Generally I don't think people _expect _a cave in."

Brennan tried to smile at what she knew to be his attempt at wit, only finding her lips too dry and her cheek to bruised to be effective.

"Take it easy," he said, seeing the wince hit her brow.

"Broken jaw?" she managed to ask.

Booth shook his head. "I don't think so. But you've got this whole list of injuries that they won't tell me about because we're not immediate family."

"Might as well be," she grumbled, shifting slightly on the bed to make herself more comfortable.

Booth saw her try to adjust herself and moved to help, tucking another pillow behind her shoulder, and bunching the blankets under her hip in the way he knew she liked.

"Better?"

She was mid-nod when the nurse interrupted them, having noticed the change in the monitors remotely and come to check on Brennan.

"Glad you finally decided to join us, Ms. Brennan," she said, kindly, moving next to the monitor and making a small adjustment.

"Doctor," Booth corrected, receiving an amused glance from Brennan. "Doctor Brennan."

"My apologies," the nurse said, smiling warmly. "I bet you're thirsty after all this time. We'll bring you some water in a little while. Until then we just want you to pace yourself and take it easy. Your doctor will be in shortly to check on you."

Brennan cleared her throat as much as she could. "Can I sign a release?" she asked the nurse.

"A release for what, hon?"

"I want Booth to have full access to my medical records," Brennan said, coughing at the end of her words and immediately wincing from the strain.

The nurse flicked her eyes between the two again, not needing to ask another question. She merely nodded and smiled warmly at Brennan. "I'll get the paperwork started."

Before she could turn to leave, Booth piped up. "What do we have to do so that I don't have to leave?" He asked, not meeting Brennan's curious eye. "I mean… is there a cot or something?"

She glanced between the two again, shaking her head with amazement. It was always shocking to her what was so clear to strangers was often the most unclear to those who lived it every day.

"Doctor Brennan has excellent health insurance and they've covered her having a private room," she replied. "Most of our private rooms come with fold-out-sofas. I'll make sure she gets transferred into one that does."

"Transferred?" Brennan asked, her head falling back to the pillow, suddenly more exhausted than when she woke up to the sound of Booth's half-chastising words.

"You're gonna be just fine, hon," the nurse said. "No need for you to stay in the ICU. We'll get you moved downstairs in just a few. I'll make sure you get a nice nurse, too," she said with a wink before slipping out the door.

Booth couldn't sit still. As elated as he was to have her bright eyes looking back at him, have her speaking with him, he was still unable to keep his hands still. He reached up and smoothed his hand across her brow, ending up with his palm cupping her non-bruised cheek ever so gently.

"No more cave-ins, Bones," he said softly. "You scared the crap out of me."

All Brennan could muster was a warm smile while she tilted her head into his touch.


	3. Chapter 3

"I can't believe you got on a plane without a change of clothes," she said, staring at him as if he had grown another head. "That was highly illogical, Booth!"

"Yeah, well, Bones, think about it. If it had been _me _in the hospital, would you have stopped to pack?" He rolled his eyes and grabbed his leather jacket from the back of the chair in her room. "Now you girls can sit and gossip about how _illogical _us men-folk are. Hodgins and I need to go find me another pair of pants," Booth grumbled.

He leaned over and placed a gentle kiss to Brennan's forehead, earning a shocked look from just about everyone in the room.

Hodgins merely clapped the man on the back, a silent macho show of understanding, as they headed out of the room and down the hall.

"Was it necessary to spill coffee on him, Angela?" Brennan asked, frowning at her friend.

"It wasn't hot. It was room temperature, sweetie. And yes – he hasn't left the hospital fore three days. He needs to go walk around and clear his head and process everything that's happened."

"He hasn't left here for three days?"

Angela shook her head. "He didn't leave the waiting room for _two _of those days. I don't know that I've ever seen anyone that worried."

"You said the same about me when I waited during his surgery."

"Yeah," Angela replied. "But that was different. You knew what to expect. And even though there was this risk that he wouldn't make it, you still had all the info. Booth – Sweetie, he just sat there and worried. He didn't know what was wrong, he didn't know what happened, he didn't know _anything. _But he dropped _everything_ and sat in that waiting room just praying that you'd be ok."

Brennan frowned as much as her bruised face would allow. "I doubt prayer had anything to do with my recovery, Angela."

"That's not the point," Angela replied. "The point is it was all he had. And he gave every ounce of energy he had to begging for you to be ok."

Brennan merely sighed. "I cannot believe he flew here –"

"Yes, you can," Angela said, laughing. "This isn't the first time he's dropped everything to fly south of the Mason-Dixon to bale your butt out. Don't act like you're shocked."

Brennan's lips twisted slightly as she examined her feelings for a moment. "I feel rather lucky, Angela. And I don't believe in luck."

"Lucky how?"

Her voice was soft when Brennan spoke. "To have friends like you all. I'm not sure why you all value me highly enough to put your lives on hold to sit at my bedside."

"Because you'd do it for us," was Angela's prompt reply. "Logic be damned, if it came down to it, Bren, you'd do it for us. And you have – for each of us in our own situations, you've given us all you have to show us how much you care."

Angela's sparkling brown eyes watched her friend as they sat in companionable silence for a few beats before Brennan finally spoke.

"I signed a release. Booth is now able to make medical decisions for me in the event that I am unable."

"Uh huh," Angela grunted. "Am I supposed to be surprised by this?"

"I don't know why you would be surprised," Brennan replied, frowning. "But I certainly thought it was something you'd like to know. You seem to enjoy it when I tell you about changing status' in my partnership with Booth."

"Relationship, sweetie," Angela corrected. "It's a relationship even if you two don't call it that. This is the world's longest platonic relationship."

Brennan turned her head to frown at her companion. "Angela-"

"No, Brennan. I'm sorry but this one time you're going to have to adjust to the fact that you're wrong," Angela's tone was adamant. "You two spend at least five nights a week having dinner together. You know his food and drug allergies as well as your own. His kid is on your Christmas list, now that you – thank god – have one. He's spent the night at your place enough that he keeps a change of clothes there. And now he's your medical proxy? Bren, that's a _relationship_!"

"I disagree, Angela. I believe a relationship involves other aspects which do not apply to Booth and me."

Angela's brow furrowed in challenge. "Bren, all you two are missing is some good old-fashioned sex, a wedding, and making him the beneficiary on your life insurance policy. You two are practically married."

It was the look of embarrassment that briefly flitted across Brennan's features which caused Angela to pounce. "Brennan!"

"Fine!" She moved her bandaged arm up to tuck a wayward hair behind her ear. Brennan grumbled. "He's already my beneficiary on my 401k _and_ my life insurance policy."

Angela's laughter echoed through the room and Brennan's glare did little to stop it.


	4. Chapter 4

His head lolled back against the pillow the nurse had kindly provided.

The movie, while a much better option than pacing with baited breath in the dull waiting-room, was slowly putting him to sleep.

And if there was one thing Booth did _not _want to do any time soon, it was sleep. He needed to stay awake and ensure Bones was still alright.

It was highly illogical and he was positive she would tell him so. But he didn't care. He knew if he slept, he'd be plagued with nightmares and fits. If staying up another night – or thirty - meant that he'd be there if something happened, he'd gladly do it.

"Booth?" her voice cut through the background noise created by Casablanca emanating from the television.

He turned his head towards her from across the room on the sofa and arched a brow in reply. He couldn't prevent the gentle smile from gracing his mouth; merely hearing her voice after thinking the worst had happened… it was enough to make him smile at the drop of a hat.

"Angela said it was odd that I asked you to be my medical proxy."

"Does it bother you?" he replied softly. "We can get the forms back, Bones."

"I don't have any doubts that it was the best decision. I trust you," she said quickly. "But apparently that sort of decision-making power is typically only distributed when two people are in a relationship."

He was tired. And it had taken a great deal of effort for Booth to follow that rather lengthy sentence she just spewed. He sighed. "She's right, Bones. Not many guys at the FBI have medical-power with their partners. If it bothers you-"

"It doesn't bother me," she interrupted quickly, rolling as much as she could so she was on her side facing him across the small, private room.

She watched him for a few moments, his attention having returned to the movie. "Do we _have _a relationship?" she asked softly, her fingers toying nervously with the fabric of the bed-sheet.

He stood, her eyes following him as relocated to the chair next to her bed. He slipped his fingers through hers, effectively stilling her fidgeting motion. "We're work-partners," he supplied, knowing it sounded weak even to his own ears.

She nodded. "Is it odd that I bought a Christmas gift for Parker?"

"Bones, you didn't have to get him anything! He likes just coming over and hanging out with you."

Brennan frowned, understanding the miscommunication came from her end, not his. "That's not what I mean," she said. "I… did Perotta get him anything? She's a work-partner."

"No."

"Was I out-of-line?"

Booth squeezed her fingers in his hand. "Bones, he loved the year-pass to the natural-history museum. His first question when we got in the car was to ask me if you'd be able to go with us. He wants to be a squint, just like you."

"I know that you don't care for that idea."

"_Didn't_ care for it," Booth shook his head. "Past tense. Now I think it's a great idea. He won't be out getting shot at. He'll probably be in line for a scholarship – which would be great. Let me tell ya, government work doesn't leave a lot of money to squirrel away for college," he chuckled. "He's a smart kid. But if he gets smarter by hanging out with you and Max and Cam and Hodgins and … I'll be proud no matter what, Bones."

"You shouldn't worry about tuition," she uttered without thinking. She was distracted by the feel of his thumb tracing patterns across her knuckles. His questioning gaze never wavered from her eyes and Brennan relented with a sigh. "Last year I invested some money into a high-interest account for him. By the time he reaches college, there should be sufficient funds to cover his undergraduate degree."

She felt Booth's fingers tense in her hand. "Bones, you shouldn't have done that."

"I know you feel uncomfortable discussing our economic differences," she said quickly. "Which is why I never mentioned it. But I wanted to do _something_ – he's a very special boy, Booth. He deserves every opportunity and if I can help with that, I'd like to."

Booth sighed and let out a small wry chuckle. "You know _this _is the stuff that makes other people think we're more than just work partners."

He looked at her blue eyes, seeing that she didn't understand his meaning. "Bones, there's no other person I know who would take their own wealth and invest it for _my _son when there's nothing in it for them."

"Cam or Hodgins would have, had you asked."

"But that's just it, Bones. I didn't _have _to ask. You did it on your own – because you care. Because you care about my family. That's just... that's what makes you my _best friend, _too, not just my work-partner."

She felt the corners of her mouth curl into a small grin and she tried not to wince at the pull to her cracked lips. "You're my best friend, too, Booth."

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small yellow jar of Carmax lip balm and began to unscrew the top. "Do you need a different label for what we are, Bones? Or is 'best friends' ok?" He dipped his finger into the pot without preamble and gentle reached out to trace her lips with the moisturizing balm. She didn't flinch but felt her breath catch in her throat at his gentle touch.

When her lips had been thoroughly coated, he dipped his finger back in the pot and proceeded to treat his own lips.

She blinked, realizing what an intimate gesture it had been and that no other person in her life, other than her mother when she was very young, had ever put chapstick on her lips.

"Angela's my best friend, too," she said softly. "But she's never put lip balm on me before."

He paused for a beat and a look of fear passed his features and quickly was hidden behind his charm smile. "Well when you say it that way and sound ungrateful, I'll just let you do it yourself next time," he teased.

Brennan rolled her eyes, having learned that particular tone meant he was kidding. "Angela also packed a bag before coming to Florida. Perhaps she's just the more logical friend."

"You know, since you're feeling a little mean right now, I'm just going to go sit over on that couch and ignore you while you pick on me!" he said, moving from the chair.

Her fingers closed tightly around his before he was able to pull his hand from her grip. "Booth, thank you."

"For the chapstick? No problem. Thanks for not biting my finger off," he replied with a wink.

"For being here," she corrected. "Despite what I would have imagined, you being here makes me incredibly comfortable. Thank you."

"You thought I'd make you uncomfortable?" Booth asked, reaching over with his free hand and pulling her blankets higher on her body, ensuring she was 'tucked-in' as he would with Parker.

Brennan forced herself to trust him with an admission she had never thought she'd ever voice. "I don't like showing weakness in front of you. I value your opinion too much," she managed to mutter. "Yet it is incredibly illogical that you're the one person I can trust to be weak in front of."

She averted her gaze, not sure that she could handle direct eye-contact after such a baring of herself.

"I trust you that much, too, Temperance," he whispered, leaning down and brushing his lips against her temple. "And that is what makes us more than best-friends."

His words seemed to echo in her ears as he went back to his spot on the couch.

Brennan's lids felt heavy and, while she hated hospitals and traditionally found them nearly impossible to sleep in, sleep wasn't elusive this time. She knew it was because of the protective watch Booth held over her as her eyes fluttered shut.


	5. Chapter 5

**AN: Well, this story is all written and now I just get the joy of posting it for you all! 3 more chapters after this one, 8 in total. **

**I will apologize in advance for the horrible transition between this chapter and the next one - there was no good place to break. Sorry!**

* * *

"This is so much better than business-class," Booth muttered, stretching his legs out in front of him.

Hodgins' jet was spacious and the leather seats were incredibly luxurious compared to any traditional carrier Booth had ever flown.

While the flight _down _to Florida was a blur, he knew this particular flight back to DC would remain in his brain for a long time and all other flights would now pale in comparison.

"I know," Angela said with a big grin, sipping a glass of champagne that Hodgins' flight-attended had handed out just after take-off.

Booth had declined, opting instead for water, as had Brennan.

But the water sat untouched in the cup-holder on the small table. Brennan's head and shoulders were tucked firmly into the side of Booth's body and his arm was draped around her shoulders, holding her close.

The anthropologist's eyes had fluttered closed almost the minute the plane had hit cruising altitude. Her pain-killers had made her incredibly sleepy but she had put up a valiant fight on the drive to the airport and had convinced herself that she would make it back to DC and to her own bed before she would succumb to the 'nap' she felt she needed.

Booth and Angela had merely rolled their eyes at that comment, knowing better than to argue.

"What's the plan, G-man?" Angela asked, shifting in the roomy seat to tuck her legs up underneath her.

"For when we get back?" Booth asked, getting a nod in return. "Do you mean before or after I sprint to the church and thank all the saints I can possibly remember for her being ok?"

He got a knowing grin from both of 'his squints' and he sighed as he collected his thoughts. "I dunno. She's got all her stuff at her place, but it really isn't laid out for a wheelchair," he said, noting Brennan's new set of prescription wheels. Her ankle had been reset and she had been given an aircast and crutches. However with the broken ribs and injured shoulder, the crutches were nearly impossible for several weeks. "She's going to have a helluva time getting around."

"Sounds like she could use a hand," Hodgins supplied. "Maybe a roomie for a week or two until the wheelchair is obsolete, anyway."

"Don't look at me!" Angela protested, holding up her hands and chuckling.

Hodgins sighed. "She'd eat me alive," he muttered getting a knowing look from his two conscious flight companions.

Booth sighed. "Fine. But one of you is going to my place to pack a bag. I'm not walking around her place naked while my clothes are in the laundry," he said, glaring at Angela. "Don't even try to come up with a devious plan. Now isn't the time."

****

"I'm fully capable of doing this myself," she grumbled for the fifth time.

Booth sighed and tugged the shoulder-strap on her suitcase higher on his shoulder.

He backed away, his hands in the air and moved in front of her wheel chair. "Fine, Bones. I'm sorry I offended you by offering to help. Go ahead, then. Show me how it's done."

She glared at him and rolled the wheels back in her hands and leaning back slightly in her chair, trying to back the wheelchair up the front-stairs to her apartment building.

The handicapped entrance was around the back of the building and currently undergoing renovations like the remainder of that side of the parking garage. It was either navigate the front entrance or sleep in the SUV.

From the minute he had lifted her out of the passenger seat and into the wheelchair, ignoring her protests, her foul mood had settled in.

Temperance Brennan _hated _being dependant upon someone else for her basic needs.

As a child in the foster-care system, she had been taught that people helped her because they were paid to do so, or not at all. And even then the help always came at a great price to her – sometimes burned hands, sometimes nights spent locked in the trunk of a car, sometimes beatings with a leather belt. The price and the debt were never worth the assistance. She had learned at a young age that if she couldn't do something herself, it either didn't truly need to be done, or she had to worker harder to figure out a way to do it on her own.

It was one of the reasons she was so logical; she spent her formative years figuring out if something qualified as a 'necessity' or not and, if it did, she figured out a way to make it happen.

But now, as her chair tipped dangerously backwards and she struggled to steady herself to keep her head from hitting the hard marble step behind her, she felt her inner child whimper.

She was jolted as strong hands clamped firmly on the arms of her wheel chair and pulled her back upright.

She looked up and met his hardened gaze.

Booth merely arched an eyebrow at her, bent in front of her chair almost eye-to-eye.

"Will you please put your pride away for just five minutes?" he asked her quietly. "Let me help you."

"I _can_ do this," she said firmly.

"You know, Bones, it won't kill you to admit defeat."

Her eyes narrowed and Booth stooped in front of her.

"This is hard. This is hard for people who have been in wheelchairs their whole lives – and they know how to balance on these things, how to adjust on a dime. This is a challenge for them. Not being able to back a wheelchair up six stairs is _not _a personal failure," he said.

Brennan pursed her lips into a tight, thin line. "I don't like asking for help."

"Well. That's good. You're not asking, I'm offering," he said, grinning. "Come on, Bones. Let me do this for you, ok?"

She nodded and he quickly moved behind her chair, pulling it effortlessly and smoothly up the stairs to the main entrance way. He spun the chair around so she was facing forward before he reached around and held the entry-way door open. He rolled the chair quickly through and decided not to take offense when she promptly began wheeling herself towards the elevator, no longer needing him for forward momentum.

***


	6. Chapter 6

***

Brennan glared at the entrance to her hallway, her mind swirling as she tried to figure out how the wheelchair was going to fit through her standard-sized hallways which certainly were not wide enough for the hospital-issued wheelchair.

Booth had stood in the living room, watching her for a brief moment before he chuckled to himself and headed to the alcove off her kitchen where she kept her washer and dryer. He pulled out her toiletry kit and set it aside before dumping her dusty clothes into the hamper.

With the practiced motions of a parent who had done many loads of dirty clothes, Booth quickly separated her laundry, not flinching when his hands closed on dainty underclothes; he tucked them into a white mesh delicate-bag and set them aside for the delicates cycle. For now, the jeans, khakis and rugged tops all got included into the washer with a cap-full of detergent. He closed the lid and heard the machine begin to fill with water, starting the cycle.

_One chore done, _he thought to himself as he walked the few steps back to the living-room, the mental to-do-list running through his head.

As he saw her reach out to the wall and lever herself out of the chair, Booth shot across the room to her side.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," he muttered, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her weight into his side. "What are you thinking?"

"The wheelchair was too wide and I was thinking I would like to get to my room and change and rest," she grumbled, burying her head in the crook of his neck. Her voice was tight. "And I was thinking that my ribs wouldn't hurt _that_ much when I moved suddenly," she admitted, knowing that he was the one person she _could _admit it to.

He sighed and rubbed her back lightly with his free hand. "I was two steps away, Bones. I could have helped," he said gently.

"The bedroom is _not _that far," she complained. "I've never had trouble making it in the past!"

"You've never had a temple fall on your head before," he countered.

"It fell on my side," she retorted. "Not my head."

Bones rolled his eyes, glad she couldn't see the motion. "Come on," he said, moving to slide his other arm under her legs.

"No," she protested. "You'll hurt your back."

"You weigh ten pounds soaking wet, Bones. I will not hurt my back," he retorted.

"I certainly do not," she said, frowning. "I weigh one hundred and forty five pounds, though I'm not sure that I've ever weighed myself soaking wet to give you an accurate figure. But its certainly more than ten pounds."

Booth smiled and shook his head, suddenly overwhelmingly glad to be corrected by her once again, despite her missing his point entirely. When the other option was that he'd never experience it again, this was much better.

She shifted further away from him, but kept an arm across his shoulders for support. She eased the weight onto her injured foot and took a tentative step down the hallway.

"Oddly it isn't the foot that's sore," she said as they took small, calculated steps down her hall, her leaning heavily on him for support in her stubborn effort to walk to her bed. "It's my ribs."

He nodded. "I broke a rib in school – playing football. It hurt worse than all my other breaks and took the longest to heal."

"I have noticed you rub your side in the cold, damp weather," Brennan commented. "Is residual arthritis due to the break?"

Booth shrugged, careful not to dislodge her grip on his shoulder. "I guess. I just know it aches."

"I can recommend a good osteopath if you'd like. I'm sure there's something that can be done to-"

He interrupted by gently squeezing his fingers on her uninjured side. "It's fine," he said. "Just part of being old. Aches and pains come with the territory."

"Sounds like something your grandfather would say," she replied, relieved to find the door to her room within arm's reach.

"It should," he said. "He's the one who told me that."

They maneuvered the rest of the way into the room and he gently guided her to the foot of the bed, ignoring her protests that she needed clothes from her dresser. "I'll get it," he said, his tone clearly indicating that further comments from her should be kept silent.

He opened the top drawer to her dresser to find a familiar grey FBI shirt staring up at him.

_And I thought I left that at the gym, _Booth thought to himself, blinking the knowing twinkle from his eye.

He grabbed the shirt and the pair of pink plaid boxers that were underneath it and shut the door without comment. He held the garments in front of him. "Bones. You're gonna need help," he said, his throat suddenly dry.

She regarded the clothes with a wary eye and he almost could her take a mental assessment of her injuries.

"I suppose it's too late to call Angela?" She asked, her voice softer than he had anticipated.

Booth sighed. "I was counting on you to be the one reassuring me that the naked human form is perfectly natural," he said trying to mimic the words he had anticipated.

Brennan half-smiled. "Well it is perfectly natural. However I know your beliefs tend to make you more conservative and I didn't think you'd be entirely comfortable assisting me with this."

"Well you got to strip me half-naked right before Christmas. Turnabout is fair play, right?" he teased, reaching over and gently unclipping the shoulder-strap on her sling and sliding her arm free.

She felt his fingers dance tentatively at the hem of her shirt and she rolled her eyes at his teasing. "Booth, would you like for me to believe you arranged for the Temple to collapse just so you could view me in my underwear?"

"I've done worse to get a beautiful woman stripped down," he teased back, glad she was able to make light of what could have otherwise been an uncomfortable situation.

"You needn't go to such lengths next time," Brennan said as he guided the shirt up and over her head and gently down her bandaged arm. "You could have just asked."

Booth suddenly understood what it felt like to almost swallow your tongue.

_She just offered to …._

_Yeah. _

He now regretted being thankful for her teasing. Because in front of him she sat clad in what was the most sensual emerald green bra, toying with him about showing it to him long ago – sans injury.

_Damn Angela,_ he thought, realizing that the feisty squint had to be responsible for helping Brennan with her clothes that morning in the Florida hospital. And damned if she didn't know exactly who would end up tucking Brennan in that night.

"Was that an offensive offer?"

Her voice broke him from his focus on mentally cursing Angela. While he hadn't stilled in his motions and he was now gathering up the FBI shirt in his hand, he realized he must have gotten a dour look on his face that she was interpreting as rejection.

"Far from it, Bones," he said, sliding the new shirt over her head. His fingers gently slid her bra strap down the shoulder of her injured arm, guiding it over her arm without making her move too much. They both quickly maneuvered the good arm through its strap, leaving the bra held in place only by its hooks.

He pulled the shirt down the rest of the way, having navigated her arms successfully.

When she was fully covered, he looked up at her and cleared his throat. "Normally I buy a girl dinner first," he said, trying to lighten the moment and failing miserably. Booth offered an apologetic half-smile as he reached his arms around her and – through the cotton of her FBI shirt – undid the hook on her bra in a smooth motion, allowing the garment to fall down to her lap.

Brennan watched, in something akin to awe, as he lifted the old shirt and bra and set them aside before handing her the boxers.

"You can do these one handed, right?"

She merely nodded.

Booth stood, his knees feeling a bit shaky. "I'll be back in a few. Why don't you – uh – finish up here," he stuttered.

She reached out and gripped his wrist firmly, preventing him from leaving.

When he finally made eye contact, Brennan noticed the gentle flush to his face finally disappearing and, despite her efforts, she couldn't deny the heat in her own cheeks.

"Thank you," she said, squeezing his wrist in her fingers.

Booth's smile was full and it went a great way to alleviating her own minor embarrassment. "It's what best-friends do, Bones."

She let his wrist slip from her grasp as he headed out of her room to afford her what little privacy he still could.


	7. Chapter 7

"Booth?"

He heard her voice echo down the hall and he leaned his head against the kitchen-cabinet and let out a frustrated sigh.

What had possessed him to think he'd be able to play nurse-maid while she recuperated? In what brief moment of stupidity did imagine that assisting her with dressing and undressing would merely be platonic assistance from a friend.

He sighed again and raked his fingers through his hair, lifting his head and turning back towards the bedroom when he heard her call to him again.

"I've finished changing. You can come back now if you'd like."

His well-tuned ears detected the tiniest trace of uncertainty in her voice. From Brennan, uncertainty was so rare that he was sure he could identify the nuance even if he didn't know the circumstances.

But in this instance, he knew the circumstances and it gave him a little reassurance to know she was uncertain about the current dynamic – just as he was.

Things had changed with the tumble of an ancient wall. He had dropped everything to be near her when she was hurt. She had woke to find him firmly planted at her bedside, looking – as she put it – ill with worry. And now he was her care-giver until the doctor gave her the all-clear for daily functions again… or until he went insane, which ever came first.

Booth rolled his shoulders, trying in vain to release some of the tension from his upper back.

He grabbed two bottles of water from the fridge, tucking them under his arm. He fisted the prescription bottle from the hospital and managed to heft her laptop bag into his free hand without disrupting his delicate balance.

She shifted on the bed when she saw him struggle through the doorway, seeming laden with her belongings.

"Okay!" He said, his voice as upbeat as he could make it. "We've got your laptop so you can work on your novel or finish your reports from the dig or whatever squinty things you want to do," he said, setting the pill bottle on the night stand, followed by the bottles of water. He quickly pulled her laptop power cord from the bag and plugged it in to the socket behind the nightstand. He yanked the laptop out and finished connecting the power cable before resting the laptop on the remaining free space on the nightstand, leaving the computer ready to go when and if she decided to use it.

Booth picked up her pill-bottle and poured a pill into the palm of his hand, holding the white tablet out to her. "Take one," he said.

"I don't believe that narcotics are going to assist me with my paperwork," she replied, reaching for the bottle of water and ignoring the pill he offered.

"Bones, it's a pain killer. Your foot is the size of Texas and you can't tell me that you're not sore, between all that shifting from changing clothes _and _your little stunt trying to walk down the hall."

"I do not need drugs in order to function, Booth."

Booth bent at the waste, his no-nonsense look firmly on his features. It was the same look he had to use when Parker refused to take Robitussin when he got a cold. Not like he could blame the kid – the stuff tasted foul; but it was for his own good. And sometimes people had to take medicine for their own good.

Brennan met his gaze firmly, not flinching under the withering stare.

"Bones."

"You can call me that all you'd like. I do not believe I'm in enough discomfort to warrant pharmaceutical intervention. I should save the drugs for when I'm in quite a bit of pain."

"Bones," he said again, rolling his eyes at her. "Take the damned pill and shut up. It'll knock you out for a few hours. I'll get some chores done while you're asleep and, since you'll be in dream land, I won't feel bad for leaving you alone back here while I'm out there –" he jerked his head towards the front of her apartment. "cooking you a fantastic dinner, finishing the laundry, and cleaning the house. Please. Take the pill. Get some rest. Give your body a chance to heal, ok?"

He watched her eyes flick to the pill and then back to his firm yet pleading expression.

And he couldn't help but smile a little bit when she relented with a large sigh and took the pill from his hand, popping it into her mouth and washing it down with a long pull from the water bottle on the night stand.

"Thank you," he said, shifting and kissing her forehead quickly.

She leaned back against the pillow resting against the headboard. "You did that in the hospital, too," she said softly as he moved away from the bed, picking up her laundry off the floor.

"Did what?"

"Kissed me."

"I didn't kiss you."

She frowned at him. "On the forehead. You just did. And you did it in the hospital, too."

He paused, looking at her while he replayed his actions in his head. He blinked quickly when he realized that he _had _in fact kissed her not only a moment ago, but in the hospital as well. Both times it had happened so organically that it hadn't been a conscious thought.

The look on his face was one of fear mingled with embarrassment and Brennan recognized it clearly for what it was: Booth wasn't able to read her. He hated not being able to read people.

"I'm not upset by it," she added the moment she reasoned that it was one of his fears.

Booth shook his head slowly. "Geez, Bones, I didn't even realize I did it. I'm sorry."

"I'm not upset," she said again, this time more firmly. "It's … reassuring. And not unpleasant."

He chuckled. "I'm glad it's not unpleasant." _Just what every guy wants to hear. _

"I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable by mentioning it."

Booth stepped around to the side of the bed, sitting down next to her with his back to her, able to meet her gaze by looking over his shoulder. "I'm glad you told me, I guess," he said. "I could have done it in the lab or something and _that_ _would _have made you upset."

"You did it in front of Angela and Hodgins," she said quickly. "I wasn't upset by that."

"Bones, I'm pretty confident that kissing you in public without your prior approval would irritate you."

"I'm not adverse to public displays of affection, Booth," she corrected gently, watching him fiddle with the laundry in his hand. "I just… well, in the past I've certainly had a better grasp on the context of the affection. Whereas with you, our dynamic seems to have blurred the lines of many different potential relationships."

"I've gotta tell ya, Bones, I'm not really sure what you mean by that," he said.

She sighed and shifted again on the bed, not sure if it was the appropriate time or place to have this conversation, but realizing now that the proverbial cat was out of the bag. "I mean that I don't mind public displays of affection. I wouldn't mind it," she said simply. "But I do like to know what is meant by it. Is it just friends or more-than-friends."

His hands toyed with the slacks in his grasp.

"Either way, Booth," she continued, a hand gently resting on his arm, not sure of how else to get his attention. "I wouldn't mind."

He nodded, looking at her over his shoulder. He shifted the clothing to one hand, while he twisted his torso to better see her. Booth slipped his free hand up to her cheek and ran his thumb across her bruised cheekbone.

"I'll remember that," he said softly, unable to fight the small grin that had crept onto his lips. _I'm sure it'll be impossible to forget. Because what I just heard seemed to give me an open invite to kiss you._

He stroked her cheek once more before standing from the bed. Booth flipped the switch on the overhead light in the room on his way out the door and he pulled the door only partially shut, calling through the opening: "Get some rest. I'll wake you when dinner's ready."


	8. Chapter 8

"This is delicious," she said, taking another forkful of the stir-fry.

He couldn't help but grin as he watched her devour the meal. He knew she was hungry; she had only picked at her hospital food the last few days, not finding any of their vegetarian meals appetizing in the least.

She polished off her second serving with an appreciative moan before putting the plate on the coffee table and leaning back on the sofa to rest.

"You really are a man of many talents, aren't you?" she teased, realizing she had leaned back against the arm he had stretched out across the top of the sofa. She tensed instinctively, not knowing if she was putting pressure against his arm in a way he didn't care for. But when she felt his hand curl around her shoulder and pull her slightly closer to his side, Brennan felt herself relax into his touch.

"I called Rebecca," he said after a few moments of companionable silence. "I was supposed to have Parker this weekend, but obviously since I was in Florida we had to reschedule."

"Oh," she said, instantly feeling awkward. "I'm sorry you lost time with him to help me. I know your time together is very valuable."

Booth shook his head. "Its ok. Parker asked how you were," he said. "So did Rebecca. They were both pretty worried."

"That's very kind of them."

"Parker wanted to come over and sign your cast. I had to explain that it's a different kind of cast," Booth said, regarding the air-cast on her foot with an amused expression. "He'll probably want to sign that, anyway."

She thought for a brief moment before nodding. "He's welcome to sign the air-cast. I'm sure he would find it quite enjoyable."

"Rebecca and I rescheduled for this weekend. Maybe Parker and I'll swing by," he replied, pausing to explain himself. "I figured by then you'll be more mobile and able to get around on your own…."

"That's probably correct," she said, frowning. Her voice became soft. "Booth, I can certainly hire a home aid nurse to come assist me. You don't have to stay. I know you have other things to do."

"Nope. Nothing else to do," he said quickly.

"Booth…" Brennan's voice faded with the half-felt admonishment. She would enjoy his company if he stayed, no doubt, but she knew he still had a life to lead aside from playing nurse-maid for her.

He squeezed her shoulder slightly before pulling his arm away and sliding out from behind her on the sofa. He grabbed the plates from the coffee table, moving towards the kitchen.

"Bones, I'm exactly where I need to be. Will you just let it go?"

She called to him from the sofa, his tall frame standing at her sink as he rinsed the dishes and loaded the dishwasher. "What about your cases?"

"There _are _other agents."

"None with as high of a solve-rate as we have."

"That's because _we _are _us,_ Bones. I can't solve those things alone. Without you, I end up pushing paper. And, really, you know how much I hate pushing paper."

"And your time with Parker –"

"Has been taken care of," he interrupted. He wiped his hands on her dishtowel, tossing it onto the counter.

"Booth, I'm sure you have things at your home you need to tend to. I _will _manage without you."

He stood, leaning against the door jamb to the kitchen, watching her from afar. He needed a little distance for what he was about to ask and resuming his seat on the sofa certainly wasn't going to give it to him. "Are you kicking me out? Does it bother you that I'm here?"

"What? No!" she said firmly, struggling against her cast and ribs to stand. She hated being an invalid and this was a prime example; when she wanted to stand toe-to-toe with him and state her case clearly, he was too far away _and _she couldn't stand. "I just do not want you to feel as if you have to stay here to ensure that I'm well taken care of," she said, finally leveraging herself from the sofa and to her feet – if a bit wobbly.

"First off, I don't feel as if I _have to_ do anything," he said, walking lowly towards her. "I'm here because I _want _to be here – not because I have to. But I've already fixed everything so I can stay and help until you can get around on your own. Will you _just let me help you_?" he said, trying not to let the tension tinge his voice with anger.

He felt her settle a handle gently on his upper arm and he closed his eyes, getting his nerves under control. "Bones, just let me take care of you for a few days, ok? I'll sleep better knowing that you're ok."

She nodded in acquiescence and spared a brief thought for the woman she had become. Five years ago, she would have forced him to leave, forced herself to tend to her own needs, despite the frustration and pain of injury. She would have found his attentions unnecessary and his irrational need to see to her wellbeing overwhelming. She would have bristled at his affection.

She didn't know if she could pin-point when it started. She didn't know if she could identify the instance when he had made his presence in her life go from an 'annoyance' to a 'need.' She didn't know how it happened, but somewhere over the last few years, he had knocked down her walls, brick by heavy brick.


End file.
